


June 2011, Present Day

by areyoumiserableyet



Series: Occupy Love [5]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (But it's an unnamed OC), Angst, Artist!Grantaire, Birthday Presents, Drinking, Getting Back Together, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Marijuana, Marriage Proposal, Occupy Wall Street, Overdosing, Past Character Death, Recreational Drug Use, Sex, Social Justice, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:33:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25365412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyoumiserableyet/pseuds/areyoumiserableyet
Summary: In which no one is getting laid, Montparnasse is back, and Enjolras buys Grantaire a coffee.
Relationships: Combeferre/Éponine Thénardier, Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Feuilly/Montparnasse, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Occupy Love [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/813696
Kudos: 15





	1. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June 2011, Present Day  
> Three Months Before Occupy  
> Enjolras and Grantaire

“I’ve been doing some research, trying to figure out the best place for the occupation. I still think Chase Plaza is our first pick for obvious reasons, but I thought maybe Zuccotti Park as a plan B,” Enjolras tells Combeferre as he holds the door of the ABC open for him to walk through. “What do you think?”

It’s an incredibly hot day, and the AC is an instant reprieve from their exhausting, albeit short walk from the train to the cafe. Enjolras’s t-shirt is already sticking to his sweaty skin and his cheeks feel flushed and heated from the sun.

When Combeferre doesn’t reply, Enjolras turns around to see him looking past him toward the back of the cafe, as if searching for something. 

“Ferre?” he asks, confused. When his friend still doesn’t answer, Enjolras reaches out to snap in front of his face.

Combeferre startles at that and finally fixes his gaze on Enjolras. “Sorry, what?”

“What were you looking for?” Enjolras asks as the two of them join the line at the counter. 

“Nothing,” Combeferre answers quickly. “Look, can you stay after? I need to talk to you about something.”

“Of course,” Enjolras replies, pinching his brows together. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, fine,” Combeferre says, waving his hand dismissively as he steps forward to order. “Hey, Chetta,” he greets their friend behind the counter, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. 

“Hey baby,” Musichetta replies. “Usual?”

“Yep,” he says with a smile. “And let me get Ep’s too.”

“You got it,” she answers and sets to work making the coffees. 

Enjolras inspects his friend while they wait, who is admittedly acting a little strange the more he pays attention. He seems wound tight, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides as he waits for his order. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks. 

Before Combeferre can answer, the bell above the door chimes, and they turn instinctively at the sound to see Grantaire and Eponine step inside. They’re both wearing sunglasses, and they simultaneously push them onto their heads, their movements eerily similar. “Twisted sisters,” Combeferre says with a laugh, and okay _what._

“What,” he says out loud.

“Oh, it’s from, uh, Grey’s Anatomy,” Combeferre says, and at least has the decency to look sheepish. 

Enjolras stares at his friend for a long moment before he asks, “Who _are_ you?”

“A man in love,” Musichetta cuts in, sliding Combeferre his coffees with a wink.

“Oh my god,” Combeferre deadpans before accepting the drinks and walking away, Musichetta and Enjolras laughing as he goes. 

“Hot or cold?” she asks then, turning her attention to Enjolras.

“Cold,” he answers. Enjolras much preferred hot coffee, and while he was known to drink it well into the summer months, even he couldn’t handle a hot beverage right now. Without thinking, he adds, “And, uh, I’ll go ahead and get R’s too.”

Musichetta raises her eyebrows but otherwise says nothing, which Enjolras is grateful for. He’s not even sure why he’s buying Grantaire’s coffee as it is, so he definitely doesn’t know what he’d say if she had asked. Enjolras pays for the drinks, sneaking a tip into the jar when Musichetta isn’t looking, and makes his way to the back room of the cafe.

When he reaches the doorway, he sees Combeferre sitting at a table with Jehan. Eponine is standing between his legs, still just barely taller than Combeferre sitting down, and she leans forward to whisper something in his ear as Enjolras glances over at Grantaire. He's sitting with Courfeyrac and Bahorel, tapping his fingers against the table with one hand and scrolling through his phone with the other.

Enjolras realizes, then, that for some reason, he doesn’t want to give him his coffee in front of everyone else. Which is a ridiculous thought for a mature adult to have, but logic and reason typically went out the door where his ex was concerned.

Instead of joining the group, Enjolras turns down the back hall and texts Grantaire. A moment later, the man in question is walking down the hall toward Enjolras. 

“What’s up?” he asks, the picture of casual. He’s wearing a white button up and black slacks - clearly his uniform for work - and his face is a little scruffier than usual. It suits him. 

“I got you a coffee,” Enjolras says stiffly, extending the beverage out in front of him for Grantaire to take. The ice in his iced mocha has already started to melt in the summer heat. 

“Oh,” Grantaire replies, staring at Enjolras for a few moments and ignoring the coffee suspended between them. Condensation drips from the cup onto the floor, a strange reminder of the seconds ticking by. After what feels like ages, he finally accepts the drink, saying, “Thanks, E.”

“So,” Enjolras says, and then doesn’t know how to continue. He had been hoping Grantaire would’ve given him a little more to work with. 

“So,” Grantaire repeats, raising his eyebrows.

“Are you excited about your birthday this weekend?” Enjolras asks eventually, actually feeling proud of himself for coming up with a topical, yet casual subject. 

“I don’t know, man,” Grantaire says sheepishly. He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “Thirty-five definitely feels different.”

“You can become president now,” Enjolras says with a shrug, because it’s honestly the first thing he thinks of. Grantaire laughs, sharp and delighted. 

“Ever the idealist,” Grantaire says fondly, and Enjolras blushes in return. After a pause, he says, “You’ll be there Saturday, right?”

“I wouldn’t miss it, R,” Enjolras says truthfully, and Grantaire smiles. 

“Alright, well. You better get me a present,” Grantaire says then, pointing at Enjolras as he walks backwards down the hall. “Better be expensive, too,” he adds before grinning and disappearing out of sight. 

  
  


About an hour later, Enjolras is just about wrapping up the agenda, only a couple talking points left to get through, including a to-do list for the marketing committee, which consists of Courfeyrac, Feuilly, and Grantaire. 

“Courf, we’d want to start you on advertising pretty early on, I think. Send out a newsletter to all of our followers, make a website, the usual,” Enjolras says, and his friend nods, scribbling down some notes as he does. 

“You know, Enj, I’m thinking for something like this, we go old school too. Fliers and posters everywhere there’s blank space. I mean with this many of us, we can cover a lot of ground. Keep it simple, put the web address at the bottom. It would at least get people talking,” Grantaire suggests with a shrug, much to Enjolras’s surprise. It wasn’t that Grantaire isn’t helpful, he certainly is - just in a more _tell me what to do and I’ll do it_ kind of way. It wasn’t often he offered his ideas, much to Enjolras’s chagrin. He knows how brilliant Grantaire’s mind is, and sometimes he wishes...well. This is an age-old argument. 

“That’s a great idea, actually,” Enjolras replies. “R, I want you, Feuilly, and Courf working on the design. Come up with a few concepts and we’ll all take a vote, okay?”

“You got it, boss,” Grantaire replies cheekily, knowing it’ll make Enjolras smile and roll his eyes and it does.

The rest of the meeting goes by quickly, Combeferre wrapping up with a run down of everyone’s assigned tasks, and Enjolras tries to pay attention, he really does, but Grantaire has rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned the first several buttons on his shirt and there is a slight sheen of sweat on his rich olive skin. Enjolras thinks the heat must be getting to him because even though he’s seen Grantaire naked more times than he can count, the amount of skin he’s showing now is unexpected and overwhelming.

Combeferre must conclude the meeting because suddenly everyone is in motion, sliding out their chairs, packing their laptops away, and hugging goodbye. Enjolras’s heart is racing inexplicably as he watches Grantaire stand and say something to Eponine, throwing a lazy arm over her shoulder. Enjolras doesn’t want him to leave just yet - wants an excuse to hold him here just a little longer - and he’s just about to walk over to thank Grantaire for his input throughout the meeting when -

“Thank you for staying behind to speak with me,” Combeferre says from behind him, and Enjolras tears his gaze away from Grantaire to look at his best friend. 

_Oh. Right._

“Of course,” Enjolras replies, gesturing for Combeferre to join him at the table he’s still sitting at. “What’s going on, Ferre?”

“I wanted...your advice,” his friend says, sounding very serious. Before Enjolras’s anxiety has a chance to ponder that, Combeferre is clarifying. “About...Eponine.”

“Oh.” Enjolras was not expecting that. “Sure.”

Combeferre looks relieved that Enjolras is making this easy for him, and only seems a little embarrassed when he says, “So it’s been nearly two months since Eponine and I started spending time together.”

“Mhm…” Enjolras prompts when it becomes clear his friend isn’t going to continue without a response. 

“We still haven’t slept together,” Combeferre says in a rush before taking a very natural, very casual sip of his mostly-empty iced coffee. 

“Oh,” Enjolras says, again. “Okay.”

“As you know,” Combeferre starts, stopping again to clear his throat. “I don’t have a great deal of experience. You know I haven’t dated anyone seriously since high school and all of my other sexual experiences...well, it was the whole _drinking and dancing and sneaking out before morning_ thing, you know?”

“Mhm…”

“When it comes to Eponine, though, I just...I’m not sure how to handle it really,” Combeferre admits at last. “How did it happen when you and R slept together for the first time?”

“Um.” Enjolras feels himself color at the memory that flashes through his head. “That was a unique situation.”

“Okay…” Combeferre says, imploring. “I mean, did Grantaire come on to you or...?”

“No, no,” Enjolras replies, clearing his throat. “It was definitely me.”

“ _Okay_...” Combeferre insists, sitting up a little straighter. “So, how did you initiate it?”

“I, uh,” Enjolras starts, swallowing thickly. “I just started kissing him.”

Combeferre looks surprised for a moment, before he’s smirking and saying, “Wow. This coming from the same man who makes all new members watch an eight hour webinar on consent?”

“Shut up, I was barely 20. It’s not one of my finer moments,” Enjolras says, and Combeferre laughs and drops it. 

“I think she’s been hinting at it for a while, and I just realized it,” he says then, sounding embarrassed. “It’s not that I don’t think about it! Or that I don’t want to - I really, _really_ want to, trust me,” Combeferre says hurriedly. “I just - I don’t want to say or do the wrong thing with her. She spooks easily.”

“Ferre,” Enjolras says, resting his hand on his friends shoulder and looking at him pityingly. “I think you need to have sex with Eponine.”


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for alcohol and marijuana use

“He won’t fuck me.”

Bahorel chokes on the hit he’s just taken, coughing out, “You and Ferre _still_ haven’t boned?!”

Eponine flips him off, turning to direct the question to Grantaire only. “R?”

Grantaire is lying on his back in the middle of the living room floor, but he begrudgingly sits up to answer her. “Here’s what you do,” he says, leaning over to snag the bong from Bahorel. He takes a hit before saying, “Go over to his place for, like, dinner or some shit, right? After the meal, excuse yourself to the ladies room, and when you come back out...be naked.”

There is a pause. 

“That is the dumbest shit I have ever heard you say,” Eponine replies, and Grantaire just laughs.

“I think it’s a good idea,” comes a voice from the doorway, and Grantaire bends backwards until an upside Jehan comes into view. 

“You saucy minx!” Grantaire laughs, twisting right-side-up and passing Jehan the bong. He takes it and moves to share the recliner with Bahorel. 

“Okay, Baz,” Eponine says then, holding her hands against her chest as if in prayer. “Clearly these two perverted half-wits are no help so-”

“Ooo! ‘Perverted Half-Wit’ is the new title of my memoir,” Grantaire says, but Eponine continues on, ignoring him.

“-I’m giving you another chance to offer an intelligent response.”

Bahorel sighs deeply, resting an arm across the back of the recliner to give Jehan a little more room. “I don’t know, man. My therapist says we should embrace emotional vulnerability. Maybe you should just...talk to him about how you feel?”

Eponine simply stares at Bahorel for a long moment, Grantaire looking on and trying not to laugh. He knows Eponine. Any second she’s going to turn to him and say-

“So I just walk out butt ass naked?” 

“Butt. Ass. Naked.” Grantaire confirms before she can even finish the sentence.

“Oooo, or maybe in some sexy lingerie?” Bahorel suggests excitedly, apparently abandoning his suggestion of healthy communication. He knows a lost cause when he sees one. 

“Okay, _see_ ?” Eponine asks, drawing out the last syllable dramatically. “That’s more like it, Baz. _Helpful, intelligent_ comments.”

“I don’t understand how you haven’t fucked yet,” Grantaire says then. “Have you been giving him the signals?”

Eponine gives him a look that implies he’s just said something unbelievably dumb. “I have given this man every fucking signal in the book, even the ones that are so obvious they’re basically foreplay. He’s not getting it,” Eponine answers. Grantaire watches as a look of complete terror washes over her face, before mumbling, “Oh my god…”

“What?” Grantaire asks.

“Oh my god…” she repeats, her eyes wide. 

“What, Eponine?!”

“Maybe he’s just not into me, guys. Maybe he just doesn’t find me attractive and this whole time he’s been too nice to say anything?”

“That’s insane, Ponine,” Grantaire says, flopping onto his back on the carpet once more. 

“How is that insane?!”

“Because you’re smoking hot for one, and Combeferre can barely string together a coherent sentence around you,” Bahorel replies. 

“It’s true,” Jehan says. “You could see your nipple piercings through that shirt you had on today, and I thought the poor guy was going to pass out.”

“Jehan!” Eponine says. “Why didn’t you tell me?!” She crosses her arms over her chest, as if she’d be covering anything they all haven’t seen 1,000 times before. When five adults share a house as small as this...let’s just say, you get comfortable with each other. 

“I thought it was on purpose,” he replies, shrugging. 

Eponine smirks to herself, looking caught out, and says, “Yeah, it kinda was.” Grantaire barks out a laugh, and Eponine nudges his shoulder with her socked foot. 

“Taire?” Jehan says then, and Grantaire pops his head up off the ground to look at his friend. 

“Yes Prouvaire?” he asks, smiling sweetly. 

“Are you excited about your party tomorrow?” Jehan asks.

Grantaire thinks on that for a second, and the reminder of his birthday just makes him think about the way Enjolras had looked earlier at the ABC when he’d offered Grantaire the coffee, smiling at him cautiously. He hadn’t known what to make of that interaction when it was happening, and he’s certainly not making sense of it now, in retrospect. He wonders if it had anything to do with the whole bath-tub thing at Ferre’s party. Grantaire had drank a sizable amount of liquor that night, and he knows he’s no good at masking his emotions when he’s drunk. Not when it comes to Enjolras, at least. He’s sure everything he’d been thinking and feeling that night had shown all over his dumb face. He _knows_ he’d looked at Enjolras in that pathetically adoring way of his, _knows_ it probably made Enjolras uncomfortable. The coffee was probably nothing more than a peace treaty, a gesture to say _we’re cool, right?_

God, Grantaire is so far away from _cool_ when it comes to Enjolras, it’s embarrassing. 

“Are you making my cake?” he tosses back eventually, when he remembers his friend had asked him a question. 

“Of course I am,” Jehan replies sweetly, and Grantaire grins.

“Then yes, I’m excited about my party tomorrow,” he says, and Jehan laughs, delighted. 

  
  


Grantaire hates this party.

Right now, Courfeyrac and Jehan are standing on the loveseat, jumping up and down and dancing ridiculously to a song Grantaire doesn’t recognize. Under them, Bahorel and Musichetta have pulled out Monopoly money from somewhere and are making it rain on the two of them from their haphazard positions on the floor. 

In the kitchen, Eponine and Floréal, one of Grantaire’s coworkers from the bar, are passing a joint back and forth and having what looks like one of those very serious conversations drunk girls who barely know each other like to have at parties. Combeferre is standing next to Eponine, one hand resting on the small of her back as he stares at her as she speaks, his eyes focusing on Eponine in a way that looks both spaced out and completely enthralled. Grantaire laughs a second later when he realizes the man is very, very stoned. It’s actually kind of adorable.

And okay, if Grantaire is being honest, it’s less the party’s fault and more the fault of his stupid, stupid heart. Or, really, it’s Enjolras’s fault. It’s Enjolras’s fault for buying him that damned iced mocha. 

Because Grantaire, being the hopeless, ridiculous fool he is, hasn’t stopped thinking about that fucking coffee ever since.

 _What did it mean?_ he had asked Eponine later that same day, to which she simply patted his cheek and said, _Oh, you sweet dumb baby._

Fast forward 36 hours, and it’s become abundantly clear what the coffee meant to Enjolras. 

Which is a big fat nothing.

How does he know this? Well, because Enjolras has essentially been avoiding Grantaire all night. Every time Grantaire has walked up to join a conversation Enjolras is in, he always comes up with excuses to make his exit. At first, Grantaire wasn’t sure that it was intentional, but after the latest encounter, it’s obvious his ex is dodging him on purpose.

Grantaire is about to just walk over and confront Enjolras right then and there, but he’s stopped by a hand on his arm, turning around to see it belongs to Feuilly.

“Hey,” Feuilly says, looking distracted. “Happy birthday, man.” Before Grantaire can thank him, he asks, “Have you heard from Mont lately?”

Grantaire frowns. “Not in a while, why what’s up?”

“Nothing,” Feuilly dismisses, already turning on his heel to leave. “Uh, I think Enjolras wants to talk to you,” he adds, clapping a hand on his shoulder and nodding his head at something behind him. Grantaire turns and sure enough - Enjolras is looking at him from across the room, a red Solo cup in his hand. He smiles at Grantaire and wiggles his fingers in a small wave. 

Grantaire turns back to Feuilly without waving back, but the other man has already disappeared. And then -

“Hi,” Enjolras says behind him, and Grantaire feels himself stiffen. He faces Enjolras slowly, feeling his mouth pull into a wide smile. 

“You were avoiding me,” Grantaire says, feeling a little emboldened from the Jagerbombs he and Bahorel did in the kitchen roughly twenty minutes ago. 

“I was not avoiding you,” Enjolras says, his cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink.

“You faked a call from your chiropractor a minute ago,” Grantaire replies, wryly, and Enjolras flushes an even deeper red. “It’s-” Grantaire grabs Enjolras’s wrist, checks the time on his watch, feels his pounding pulse, pretends he doesn’t. “-11:30 at night.” 

Enjolras laughs, pulling his wrist from Grantaire’s grasp with an amused huff. “I guess I just don’t know what to say to you sometimes,” Enjolras eventually says, and it’s almost too-honest a thing to admit to your ex-boyfriend in the middle of his birthday party. 

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Grantaire says, watching Enjolras closely. He takes a sip of the drink in his hand as if he’s not sure what to say next. Behind the rim of the cup, it’s clear Enjolras is trying not to smile. Grantaire feels hot all over. 

Maybe, he thinks, it’s not so bad a party after all.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for almost sexy-times

“Okay so that just leaves Enjolras,” Bossuet says excitedly, looking over at the man expectantly. 

Enjolras’s heart suddenly starts beating much faster than normal, and he hopes neither Feuilly nor Combeferre can hear it from where they’re sat next to him. 

Enjolras is sitting with his legs crossed on the floor in Grantaire’s living room, leaning slightly against Courfeyrac’s legs from where he’s sitting above him on the couch. Grantaire has just finished opening his gift from Feuilly - a hand painted deck of cards that must have taken him ages to complete - and by some stroke of unfortunate luck, Enjolras is the last person in their haphazard circle to give Grantaire his gift. He’s a little embarrassed to admit it, but he’s nervous. He’s been agonizing over what to get Grantaire for weeks and the fact that his gift is the last one to be opened only adds a weird feeling of pressure and expectation that Enjolras tries to ignore.

He isn’t sure exactly why it had been so difficult for him to decide on a gift. Well, that’s not entirely true. He knows it’s because things have felt different between him and Grantaire since their interaction in the bathroom at Combeferre’s party. He can’t describe it, really, because nothing _obvious_ has changed. The two of them have been acting like they always have when they’re around each other - sticking to the usual post-break up pleasantries and only seeing or speaking to one another at group gatherings.

So, no, there hasn’t been a substantial shift in circumstances or anything like that. It’s more of a feeling that he gets whenever he’s been around Grantaire these last few months - the way his stomach has been swooping anytime he finds Grantaire watching him. The way his throat goes dry when he catches Grantaire’s eye at meetings, the other man offering him a smile that is utterly devastating to be on the receiving end of. It all feels, well, a little exhilarating if he’s being honest, and it’s stirring emotions in Enjolras that he hasn’t let himself feel in a long time. 

He worries his bottom lip as he looks at the envelope in Grantaire’s hand. It’s red, and with black sharpie, Enjolras had written “R” on the outside in what was supposed to be fancy-looking script. Enjolras isn’t very artistic.

“Let me guess,” Grantaire says as he slides a finger under the seal. “A gift card for a haircut.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes as he watches Grantaire pull out the card, tossing the envelope into the mountain of wrapping paper from presents-past that is piled on the living room floor. Grantaire opens the card and the photograph Enjolras knows to be inside falls out into his lap. He watches Grantaire study the picture, his brow furrowed in confusion as he looks at the image of an empty room with crisp white walls and bright lights lining the ceiling.

“Well turn it over,” Enjolras huffs impatiently, feeling his cheeks go hot. 

“Arthur Galleries,” Grantaire reads, and looks up at Enjolras, still confused. “What does that mean?”

“I rented you a gallery space. Well _that_ gallery space,” he answers, nodding his head toward the picture in Grantaire’s hand. “It’s in Chelsea. You have it Thursday through Saturday.”

There is a pause in which no one says anything.

“You’ve never even seen my work,” Grantaire says, a strange edge to his voice that Enjolras can’t quite place.

This is true, as much as it’s haunted Enjolras since he’s known the man. Grantaire is so secretive with his artwork, and Enjolras never quite ascertained as to _why._ As far as Enjolras is aware, the only people who have seen any of Grantaire’s complete pieces are Jehan and Eponine, and that’s only because they aren’t the easiest people to say no to. Regardless, Enjolras can’t say he isn’t hurt by the fact that Grantaire apparently has never trusted Enjolras enough to show him his art. 

“Well, Jehan has mentioned how talented you are, and, I mean, art is subjective so,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders. Everyone is staring at him with strange looks on their faces, and Enjolras realizes that the gallery must have been a really bad idea. Embarrassed, he asks, “Why is everyone so quiet? Is it a bad gift? I mean, I’m sorry, I just thought-”

“Enj,” Combeferre interrupts, his voice soft and warm next to him. Before Enjolras can turn to look at his friend Grantaire is speaking. 

“It’s an amazing gift,” he finishes. “I don’t even know what to say. Thank you, E.” 

“I booked it for a few weeks from now,” he replies, feeling a little relieved. “I hope that’s enough time to get some pieces ready.” Grantaire nods, still looking at Enjolras with a look of almost disbelief on his face.

“Rad gift, Enj,” Feuilly says, squeezing his shoulder before using him to help himself stand up from the floor. “I, for one, am going to get another drink.” He shakes his empty can of off-brand Dr. Pepper. “Anybody need anything?” 

“Oo, me!” Cosette chirps, standing and linking her arm in Feuilly’s as he leads her to the kitchen. The rest of the group starts dispersing then - Jehan goes to fetch a trash bag for all the wrapping paper while Courfeyrac goes to turn up the music. Everyone else pulls themselves from the floor and starts wandering to different parts of the house. Everyone, that is, except Grantaire and Enjolras. Grantaire is still sitting there on the floor, staring at Enjolras, and he feels paralyzed under his gaze, like he can’t move until Grantaire does. Enjolras watches as Grantaire slowly gets up, takes a few steps until he’s standing directly above him.

“Can I show you something?” he asks, extending his hand for Enjolras to take. He nods, allowing Grantaire to pull him upright. Grantaire doesn’t let go of his hand and Enjolras doesn’t protest, instead he follows him silently into the bedroom he knows to be Grantaire’s. It’s been a while since Enjolras has been in this room. Grantaire usually came over to Enjolras’s apartment when they were having sex since he lives alone, so Enjolras has only really been in Grantaire’s room a handful of times. He wonders what the last time was like - _Were they fighting or fucking?_

Grantaire releases his hand as he steps into his bedroom and flicks on the light. Leaning against every available wall are two dozen or so canvases in varying sizes and levels of completeness. Enjolras glances at them, his eyes flicking over the familiar faces of his friends. There’s a portrait of Joly and Bossuet sitting on opposite sides of a sofa, each pointedly not looking at the other while continuing to hold hands. There’s a painting of Eponine, it’s one of the biggest ones in the room, and there’s flowers growing out of her chest. There’s one of Cosette, wearing a classic pink tutu and matching ballet flats, doing a pirouette on what appears to be West 23rd Street. It’s beautiful. They’re all beautiful. Enjolras is speechless. 

“Sorry, it’s a mess,” Grantaire is mumbling, kicking things under his bed as Enjolras continues to take in his incredible pieces. He couldn’t believe he’d never seen any of Grantaire’s work before. Sure, he’s seen a ton of the sketches Grantaire is always doing, but never a finished painting like the ones he’s seeing now. 

“These are remarkable,” Enjolras says, his voice a whispered awe. “You’re incredibly talented, Grantaire.”

“Well, I don’t know about that, but, um,” Grantaire stutters, seeming nervous. This makes Enjolras look away from the paintings long enough to glance at Grantaire’s face. It’s not often that Grantaire sounds nervous. He’s avoiding eye contact with Enjolras, twisting the hem of his shirt around his finger over and over. “I just thought, I don’t know, you should see my stuff before...you know, make sure it’s gallery-worthy,” he finally lands on, chuckling. 

Instead of answering, Enjolras turns back to the portrait of Montparnasse he’d been studying. It’s dark, all his tattoos meticulously rendered, and depicts Montparnasse holding a finger gun to his own head, smiling. It’s strange and eerie and breathtaking.

“Where am I?” he asks Grantaire, suddenly realizing he hasn’t seen himself in any of the paintings. 

“Uh…” Enjolras turns toward Grantaire, who looks guilty.

“Oh, if there isn’t one of me, that’s fine,” Enjolras hurries to say. “Obviously. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Shut up,” Grantaire practically groans, giving Enjolras a Look. “You obviously have one, Enjolras. Several, actually, but one that’s you know...like, done, I guess.” 

“Well, can I see it?”

“Yeah, I just,” Grantaire turns around and starts shuffling through some of the larger canvases that were leaning on the wall near his closet. “I don’t know that you’re going to like it, and I totally understand if you don’t want me to put it in the gallery. I mean, I wasn’t even planning on it, actually- ” he mumbles, and abruptly cuts himself off as he finds the painting in question. He pulls it out from behind some others, including one that appears to be an upside down Courfeyrac, and turns around.

“Promise you won’t get mad,” he says, smiling in a way that’s more grimace than anything. 

“Why would I get mad?” Enjolras asks, feeling wary. 

Grantaire doesn’t answer, just sighs and turns the canvas around for Enjolras to see.

Enjolras feels his face go red, eyes widening. “Am I… _climaxing_?”

“That’s a nice way of putting it, yes,” Grantaire says, studying Enjolras’s closely. He looks like he might be sick. 

The painting is larger than the others and the colors much brighter than the rest of Grantaire’s work. It’s _definitely_ Enjolras though, and it’s _definitely_ what Enjolras assumes he looks like from Grantaire’s perspective when he’s riding him.

The painting doesn’t show anything except Enjolras from the waist up, his bare skin made up of thick brushstrokes in pale pinks and bright creams. His head is angled upwards, strands of hair falling messily in his face. His eyes are closed tight and his mouth is open slightly. The way Grantaire has painted him makes Enjolras look almost angelic, yellows saturating the background. It’s stunning, truly, and Enjolras doesn’t think he’ll ever have the right words to express just how much. 

“Grantaire…” he breathes, unable to tear his eyes away.

“I know, I know,” Grantaire replies anxiously. “It’s weird, right? I’m sorry, don’t worry I’m not putting it in the show.” 

“You have to put it in the show,” Enjolras says quickly.

“Wait...what?”

“R, it’s...it’s stunning. You made me look beautiful."

“Well, you are beautiful Enjolras. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says this as if it’s a fact that cannot be refuted. “Especially when you’re...you know...like this.” He nods his head toward the canvas leaning against his front.

Before he can think better of it, Enjolras surges forward and kisses Grantaire. Enjolras grabs onto him for dear life, frantic limbs reaching for as much of him as possible. Grantaire hums in surprise, awkwardly maneuvering the giant canvas out from between them without breaking the kiss. As soon as Grantaire has propped the painting safely against the wall, Enjolras is pressing his body against his, his hands finding the zipper on Grantaire’s jeans.

Enjolras puts his hand down Grantaire’s pants, palming him over his underwear. Grantaire pulls his own shirt over his head, his breath coming in hot and fast. Enjolras sucks on Grantaire’s tongue, and the other man moans loudly.

Enjolras feels like he’s on _fire_ , and he finally realizes the strange tension between himself and Grantaire for the past few weeks has been pure, unbridled _want_.

Enjolras squeezes Grantaire’s hips and backs them up to the foot of his bed. Grantaire makes a sound of protest when their kiss is abruptly ended, Enjolras pushing him down so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed and Enjolras is standing over him. He starts taking his shirt off as quickly as possible, as Grantaire grips the backs of Enjolras thighs, leaving open-mouth kisses on his stomach and hips.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans, his shaking hands making it difficult to unbutton his shirt. “ _Fuck, Grantaire, I-_ ”

“OH MY GOD!”

Enjolras and Grantaire both jump, turning instinctively toward the door, at the voice that interrupted what Enjolras knows was about to be some really, really great sex. 

Standing there, her mouth open is complete and utter shock, is Eponine. 

“How long?!” she yells, taking in their varying stages of undress. Grantaire is still clutching Enjolras’s thighs, both of them frozen in place. 

“Hey what’s the yelling about - OH MY GOD!” Courfeyrac yells, stepping into the room and standing next to Eponine. The second intrusion snaps Enjolras and Grantaire out of it enough for them to separate and begin putting their clothes back on.

“How long?!” Eponine repeats, continuing to stare at them. Everyone else filters in, drunkenly bumping into one another in an effort to get into the room and see what was going on. 

“Like all of 30 seconds, Eponine,” Grantaire says sharply. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Pay up, folks,” Combeferre says then, and a collective groan sounds through the room. 

Enjolras is so lost. “Wait wha-”

“Did you…holy shit, they _bet on us_ , Enj,” Grantaire says then, shaking his head and looking at their friends as if he doesn’t know whether to be proud or offended.

“Ferre?!” Enjolras says then, turning to look at his best friend who has betrayed him so. The other man doesn’t seem to be the least bit sorry for his actions. Traitor. 

“I still think you had some secret insider intel,” Courfeyrac grumbles, and Combeferre simply laughs. 

“Now, don’t be a sore loser, Courf” he says, and really _what?_

“I hate all you so much,” Enjolras manages to say after the shock has worn off. 

“You certainly don’t hate R,” Eponine says then, her eyes darting down to his dick that is - yep - still very much hard inside his pants.

Enjolras balks at that, reaching down to cover his bulge, and Grantaire, ever the gentlemen, defends his honor by - rather unceremoniously - kicking them all out.


	4. Four

“Hey? I didn’t know you were coming,” Grantaire says upon seeing Enjolras.

He and Courfeyrac have just arrived downtown to the Financial District where Grantaire, Marius, and Cosette were already waiting. They’re there to shoot the image that is to grace their marketing materials for the demonstration they’re organizing. Courfeyrac had apparently been struck with some bright idea of using the Wall Street Bull, and they all knew better than to question his vision. 

“Feuilly texted me,” Enjolras replies. “He said he couldn’t make it so I thought I’d tag along with Courf in case you guys needed anything.”

“Sweet,” Grantaire says, stuffing his hands in his pockets, feeling nervous.

It’s been almost two days since Grantaire’s party, and he and Enjolras have yet to speak about what had almost transpired between them. 

“Also, I wanted to see you,” Enjolras says then, and Grantaire feels warm all over.

“Yeah?” he asks, turning to Enjolras and smirking. 

“Yeah,” Enjolras echos. “I was wondering if we could talk? About the other night?” 

Grantaire's heart sinks. He knows - it was a mistake. An incredibly sexy, mind-blowing mistake. 

Grantaire _knows_ this - he does. It’s just that he doesn’t want to hear Enjolras say it out loud just yet. (And before anyone asks, _yes_ , Grantaire is aware that he is pathetic.) 

“Enj, please trust me when I say I do want to talk about this. I really, really do. I just,” Grantaire pauses, swallows the lump in his throat. “Later? I just need to get my thoughts together.”

Grantaire watches Enjolras’s face as he registers this, watches him struggle for a few moments, clearly wanting to push the subject, before resigning himself to waiting. And _god,_ that’s one thing Grantaire's always loved about Enjolras - his expressive face.

Really, it makes him the perfect muse. 

“How are you feeling about the show?” Enjolras asks then.

“Nervous,” Grantaire replies instantly, because it’s the truth. “Really fucking nervous.”

“Oh no,” Enjolras says solemnly, his face turning almost white, and Grantaire isn’t sure what he’s said to warrant such a reaction. “I’ve forced you into something, haven't I? God, I should have known if you didn’t want to show your friends your art you wouldn’t want to show complete strangers. Listen, you don’t have t-”

“Enj,” Grantaire interrupts the other man’s rambling, reaching out to wrap a steadying hand around his arm. The thing is, no one works Enjolras up more than Enjolras does. Grantaire had figured this out a long time ago, and he knows, in those moments, all Enjolras needs is something - like the firm pressure of skin against skin - to help ground him.

Grantaire waits a few seconds, allowing Enjolras a chance to breathe before he’s continuing, Grantaire’s words spilling out of him before he can really think about what it is he’s saying. His one and only thought being _make Enjolras feel better_. “No, it’s good. It’s...Look, Enj, you...believe in people recklessly, even when it’s someone like me who has given you absolutely no reason to,” he laughs here, and Enjolras opens his mouth to protest, but Grantaire plows on. “You have no idea how much that means to me, E,” Grantaire admits, because apparently his mouth has decided it’s a good time to admit these things he’s only ever thought to himself before, out loud to his ex, right at this moment. And really, who is Grantaire to argue? “Besides, I think the gallery was just the push I needed, so thank you...for that.”

“Enjolras! Grantaire! Get over here and help boost Cosette!” Courfeyrac yells suddenly, and the two men turn immediately toward their friends. Courfeyrac has already positioned his tripod to face the Charging Bull sculpture. Nearby, Marius and Cosette are standing together, looking sickeningly in love.

“You ready, Cosette?” Courfeyrac asks, and the blonde nods in return, smiling wide. She shrugs off Marius’s jacket, revealing a black ballet leotard, and slips out of the shoes she’s wearing so she’s barefoot.

“Ready,” she says, and Grantaire and Enjolras each take a foot, boosting Cosette up so she’s sitting on the bull’s back, while Marius stands behind her for support. 

Once Cosette is standing solidly on the bull’s back, Courfeyrac jogs a few paces away to his camera and begins to give her instructions for how to pose. They knew they were going to have to work quickly if they didn't want to draw too much attention to themselves. After all, it's not everyday you see a Juilliard-trained ballerina scale a giant bronze statue of a bull, so they knew they were bound to draw some eyes. The only issue was whose. Tourists? Sure. Wall-Street execs who could later see their posters and recognize them as the ones responsible? Not so much. 

It’s an unseasonably windy day for June, and the streets around them are bustling with people, many of them the very same suit-clad assholes they’re fighting against. Next to him, Enjolras is standing with his arms crossed in front of him, and Grantaire can tell being here hits a little too close to home. 

“You look so beautiful up there!” Marius attempts to yell over the noise.

“What?!” Cosette yells back, scrunching her face in confusion. 

“I love you so much!” Marius says instead. 

“What?!”

“Marry me!”

“What?!” 

“Did he just-?” Grantaire starts. 

“Did you just propose to me?!” Cosette squeals, and Grantaire is only a little worried that she’s going to fall off of the damn bull. 

Marius’s face is redder than Grantaire thought possible, but he’s grinning like mad and so is Cosette, and Courfeyrac is laughing delightedly as he keeps snapping pictures of the two of them.

“Get me down!” Cosette says then, and they all hurry to comply. “I want to kiss my fiance!” 

  
  
  


When Grantaire gets home later that afternoon, Eponine is already there, sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, a foot propped up on the seat so she can paint her toenails. 

“Hey kiddo,” Grantaire says, walking over to the fridge and pulling out two beers. He ruffles Eponine’s hair as he pops down in the chair next to her, handing her one.

“Hey,” Eponine says, taking the beer gratefully and setting it on the table in front of her. “How’d the shoot go?”

“Good. I think Courf got the shots he needed,” Grantaire answers, his stomach filled with anxiety at what he has to tell his friend. He’s been dreading this conversation from the second he got on the train to head home and the initial excitement from the proposal had worn off. He isn’t sure how Eponine is going to take the news. She hasn’t talked about Marius nor her feelings about him in a while, but Grantaire knows better than anyone - old habits die hard. 

“That’s good,” she says, switching to her other foot.

“Yeah, I, uh,” Grantaire starts. “I have something else I gotta tell you, Ep.”

Eponine immediately stops painting her toes and turns to Grantaire with a scowl. “What’s wrong?”

“Marius proposed to Cosette today,” he says, getting right to it. Eponine generally preferred the no-bullshit version of things, after all.

“Oh,” Eponine says, and Grantaire watches his friend’s face carefully. “Huh.”

Grantaire holds his breath, bracing himself for whatever is to come next. But Eponine says nothing, just keeps painting strokes of lavender polish across her toenails. “Is...is that it?” he asks eventually.

“Yeah,” Eponine says with a shrug. “I’m actually okay.”

“It’s cause of Ferre, isn’t it?” Grantaire asks, feeling himself smile. 

Eponine returns the smile shyly. “I really really like him, Taire,” she says.

“And I’m really fucking happy for you, kid,” Grantaire replies. “Ferre’s a good guy, and you deserve a good guy.”

“You too,” Eponine says, bumping her fist against his shoulder. 

Before Grantaire can reply, someone is knocking on the front door. “You expecting someone?” he asks, and Eponine shakes her head. 

Grantaire gets up to investigate, opening the front door to reveal Enjolras standing on his front steps, and he looks - 

“Enjolras?” Grantaire asks, surprised. “What…?”

And then Enjolras starts sobbing. Uncontrollably. 

“R...I…fuck...R…” he’s trying to speak, gasping for breaths in between his words. His face is red and blotchy, his cheeks already wet with tears. Grantaire reaches out, resting his hand on Enjolras’s hip and guiding him inside. He steers him toward the couch, his pulse loud and intrusive inside his head. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, albeit stupidly. “Like, physically, are you okay?” He’s looking Enjolras over, and he doesn’t _see_ anything wrong but - Enjolras nods his head and Grantaire allows himself a small sigh of relief. This doesn’t last long, however, as Grantaire realizes if Enjolras isn’t hurting physically then he’s hurting mentally, and that’s territory totally out of both of their elements. Now more than ever.

“Did something happen? Is everyone else okay?” Grantaire asks as he takes in the man next to him, his body wracked with sobs, his breath hitching in his throat. He nods again. “Okay…” Grantaire says slowly, voice soft. “Just take some deep breaths. It’s okay…you’re okay…”

Enjolras reaches over and squeezes Grantaire's hand so hard it almost hurts. Grantaire takes a deep breath himself - in through the nose, out through the mouth - and Enjolras attempts to follow suit, his breath stuttering on the inhale. 

Over Enjolras’s shoulder, Eponine appears in the doorway, looking concerned. Grantaire shakes his head minutely, and she nods before leaving the room again. 

Several minutes later, Enjolras’s breathing mostly returns to normal, and Eponine walks in with two cups of coffee in her hands and a bottle of scotch tucked under her arm. 

“Wasn’t sure what kind of crisis this was,” she mutters as she sets it all down on the coffee table. Grantaire feels instantly relieved and ridiculously grateful for her as he watches Enjolras’s lips curl into an almost-smile.

She leaves the room after that, and Grantaire immediately opens the scotch, taking a quick pull before pouring a little into his coffee mug for good measure. 

“I’m sorry for barging in like this,” Enjolras says then, and Grantaire shakes his head. 

“Don’t apologize, E,” he says. They’re still holding hands. Grantaire reaches over with his free hand to tuck some loose strands behind Enjolras’s ear. “What’s wrong?”

“Would it be completely ridiculous to say I don’t know?”

Grantaire’s heart aches at that. “No. I get it,” he says, and he does. “Do you know what triggered it at least?”

Enjolras doesn’t answer for a long time. Eventually, he chooses not to. Instead, he sighs and says, “I miss you.”

Grantaire is doing everything he can to keep himself together. “You’re kind of scaring me, E,” he says, and Enjolras looks at him curiously.

“It scares you that I miss you?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Grantaire says honestly, and Enjolras chuckles, eyes still a little teary.

“Yeah,” Enjolras repeats. The two of them stare at one another for a long time as Grantaire’s pulse continues to race. Anyone else looking at Enjolras right now would think he was scowling, but Grantaire knows that face - has spent years memorizing this man - and he knows Enjolras is not angry. He’s afraid. 

Before Grantaire can make any sense of that, Enjolras’s lips are on his for the second time that week. He kisses back immediately. But really, it’s a knee-jerk response.

A younger, more foolish version of him wouldn’t have cared. This is _Enjolras_ kissing him _,_ after all. But Grantaire now - after thirty-five years of learning how to be a Person - gently pushes him away. 

“Please,” Enjolras whispers. They’re still very close. “ _R.”_

“Enjolras, please look at me,” Grantaire replies, watching his face closely. He sighs in what feels like relief when those blue eyes meet his own. “I want to. Trust me, I _really_ want to, E. Just - not now, okay? Not when you’re upset like this.” Grantaire is proud of how steady his voice sounds.

Enjolras leans his forehead against Grantaire’s, presses a slender hand to the side of his face, and says, “You’re right.” He places a final, chaste kiss to the corner of Grantaire’s mouth and pulls away to stand. “I should go.”

“Wait, please,” Grantaire says, standing as well. There’s no way he can let Enjolras leave - not like this. “Stay.”

“But-” Enjolras tries to protest.

“Just to sleep,” Grantaire hurries to say. “Please."

“Okay,” Enjolras says, like it’s that easy and maybe, Grantaire thinks, it is.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The photo that they're taking is based on the actual Occupy poster which can be seen here:  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Occupy_Wall_Street#/media/File:Wall-Street-1.jpg


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **TW for talk of suicide** 
> 
> CW for almost sexy-times (again)

The next morning, Enjolras wakes up with Grantaire’s arms around him.

He briefly considers waking Grantaire up the same way he did all those years ago, when he woke up in his arms for the very first time, but thinks better of it. Even though Grantaire told him the night before that he wanted it, he could change his mind in the light of day, when Enjolras is no longer sobbing uncontrollably into his lap. When he isn’t outright begging Grantaire to fuck him.

Instead, he simply burrows closer to Grantaire, wanting to enjoy this moment while he can. 

Enjolras is still feeling a little embarrassed about the night before, if he’s being honest. He doesn’t really know what happened - one minute he was on the train on his way home from Wall Street and the next, he was at Grantaire’s door having a panic attack. 

And okay, maybe Enjolras has been a little stressed out lately, and truthfully, he feels a kind of raw ache in his chest whenever he thinks about the fact that his two best friends are moving hours away in a few short months, and yes, there had been something like a lump in his throat as he watched Marius propose to Cosette while his ex-boyfriend who he most definitely still has feelings for was standing beside him, and-

So perhaps, the panic attack didn’t come out of _nowhere_. 

Enjolras props himself up on an elbow and watches Grantaire sleep. His eyelashes are longer than they have any right to be, fanning out over his cheeks, fluttering as Enjolras’s breath ghosts over his face. When Enjolras leans forward and presses a kiss against the mole on his jaw, Grantaire stirs. 

“Mm?” he mumbles, rolling onto his side and almost on top of Enjolras. Grantaire hums as if surprised to find someone in his bed, and he immediately snakes an arm around Enjolras's waist and pulls him closer, keeping his face buried against Enjolras’s skin. 

Enjolras laughs quietly and Grantaire just snuggles closer. “Morning,” he says softly, carding his fingers in Grantaire’s wild curls. 

“Mmm, morning sunshine,” Grantaire replies, his voice muffled, and Enjolras’s insides do a summersault. 

The two of them lie there in silence for a while, Grantaire dozing in and out of sleep, Enjolras content to let him.

About an hour later, Grantaire is fully awake, and the two of them are lying in bed shoulder to shoulder. Enjolras is holding Grantaire’s hand in front of his face to inspect, tracing circles into his palm. He turns his hand over, runs his finger over a scar in between Grantaire’s thumb and index finger, asking, “What’s this from?”

“This girl I was seeing. She stabbed me on accident,” Grantaire answers, Enjolras’s head snapping over to look at him. The other man simply chuckles and explains, “We were fucked up. Playing that knife game.” Grantaire demonstrates this for Enjolras, using his other hand to mime stabbing a knife in between each of his fingers.

Enjolras just stares at Grantaire in a mixture of confusion and exasperation. Grantaire taps the side of his nose, smiles and says, “Bar fight. In case you were wondering.”

“Was that your girlfriend who died?” Enjolras asks before he can think better of it, and next to him, he can feel Grantaire stiffen. 

“Who told you that?” he asks, his tone unreadable.

-

_“What’d you do?”_

_Enjolras startled from where he was standing, staring fruitlessly at the door as if Grantaire was going to rush back in so he and Enjolras could dramatically make up and have sex on the kitchen floor._

_“Eponine,” Enjolras said, walking into the living room where Eponine was sitting on the couch, folding laundry. “I didn’t realize you were here.”_

_Eponine hummed in response, dropping a folded washcloth onto the pile of others._

_“Need any help?” Enjolras asked, gesturing at the rather large pile of laundry yet to be folded. Eponine nodded her head at the old recliner, and Enjolras sat down and grabbed a dish towel off the pile._

_Enjolras and Eponine were rarely alone together. In fact, Enjolras wasn’t sure he could even think of a time before now that it had happened. In that moment, he realized, guiltily, that he didn’t know much about Eponine at all other than that she was Grantaire’s best friend and someone who is not to be fucked with. Enjolras watched her for a moment as he absentmindedly fiddled with the towel in his hand._

_Eponine was beautiful. It wasn’t as if Enjolras hadn’t realized that before - he’s gay, not blind - but looking at her now, Enjolras thought about how striking she truly was. Her face was soft with full lips, and she had smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose that made her look eternally young, playful. There was something in her eyes, though, and the exhausted slope of her shoulders that told a different story of Eponine and her life. One that wasn’t all that beautiful or playful, he guessed._

_“So,” Eponine said, not looking up from her folding. “Are you going to answer me?”_

_“Hm?”_

_“What’d you do to R?”_

_“What makes you think it was me?” Enjolras huffed, indignant._

_“I made an educated guess,” Eponine said, smirking._

_“We got into an argument.”_

_“About what?”_

_“You don’t want to know.”_

_Eponine snorted. “Are you going to fold that or not?”_

_Enjolras mumbled an apology and started folding the dishcloth, his mind still reeling from his argument with Grantaire._

_“It’s just-” Enjolras stopped himself, thinking. “I don’t understand him," he eventually said._

_“He used to be like you, you know,” Eponine said, looking up from her folding._

_“What do you mean?”_

_“He used to be like you. You know, idealistic...believed people were good...that there_ was _good - more good than bad, at least.”_

_Enjolras had a hard time believing this. “What happened to that?” he asked._

_“I don’t know if that’s my story to tell," Eponine replied._

_“Eponine, I just...I really want to understand him. I really want this to work.”_

_Eponine looked at Enjolras for a few moments, her expression unreadable._

_She sighed heavily, going back to her laundry. “Taire had shitty parents, a shitty childhood. I mean, we all kind of did. He was still remarkably okay , though - more okay than the rest of us. He was full of life and just...eager, right? Like... eager to learn, tried every hobby you can imagine,” Eponine rolled her eyes at that, and Enjolras chuckled. “He...talked to everyone he met - like_ really _talked to them, you know? But when we lost Gav, he got into a lot of rough shit...drinking all day every day, hanging around with some scary people...doing some scary things.” Eponine paused, staring at her lap like she wasn’t sure she should continue. “Anyway, he met this girl...he was crazy about her...and she died.” Eponine looked back up at Enjolras, studied him for a moment before adding, “Grantaire found her body.”_

_“How did sh-”_

_“She hanged herself in a closet,” Eponine said and it’s quick and matter-of-fact._

_A sickly feeling swept over Enjolras at that. He didn’t know what to say, so he just started folding towels. The two of them sit in silence until the entire pile of towels are folded neatly between them. Eponine reached over and squeezed Enjolras’s knee._

_“He’s better,” she said and when Enjolras looked confused, she added, “What I mean is - he’s better than I’ve seen him in a long time. Since you. He’s laughing again.”_

-

“I wish you had,” Enjolras says.

“She had no right telling you that,” Grantaire says eventually, having assumed correctly that it had been Eponine who told Enjolras this. That had been over a year ago, and back then, Enjolras didn’t have the courage to bring it up with Grantaire. 

“We did it all wrong, Taire,” Enjolras says then, not really meaning to. It's just that, Enjolras has been thinking about he and Grantaire’s relationship a lot lately. About the hundreds of ways they both screwed up, about how terrified they were of one another.

“Hm?”

“Us. We did it wrong,” he repeats. “We weren’t...honest with each other. About _anything_. We just...well, we used sex to avoid talking to one another."

Next to him, Grantaire is silent.

"I was scared to know you," Enjolras admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I think, because I was scared of loving you too much. I still am.”

For a long time, Grantaire seems like he doesn't know what to say to that. Eventually, “Enj, I’m pretty you 'knowing' me will have the opposite effect…”

Enjolras wants to roll his eyes. “I know it won’t.”

“So, what are you saying?” Grantaire asks, the corners of his mouth pulling upwards despite himself.

“I’m saying that I...that I want to try again,” Enjolras says. “And do it right this time. I want to know you Grantaire. The good, the bad. I want all of it.” 

“Yeah?” Grantaire asks, looking a little shell-shocked. 

“Yeah,” Enjolras laughs breathlessly.

“Try again,” Grantaire says then, and Enjolras is lost for a moment. 

“What?”

“Kiss me,” Grantaire says. “Try again.” 

With a grin, Enjolras straddles Grantaire’s waist and runs his hands up and down his chest. Enjolras leans down, ghosting his lips across Grantaire's, not quite kissing him. Under him, the man is taut like a bow, his mouth open and waiting and desperate, and when Enjolras finally kisses him, Grantaire relaxes into it and it's slow and dirty and perfect. 

On the nightstand, Grantaire’s phone vibrates loudly.

“Ignore it,” Grantaire mutters against Enjolras’s lips, the two of them continuing to kiss as the phone buzzes a few times before stopping. 

“God, I’ve missed this,” Enjolras says against Grantaire’s lips, sliding his hand down his chest until he’s cupping him through his boxers. 

“Enj-” Whatever Grantaire had planned to say is cut off by his phone vibrating once again. 

With a very loud and very displeased groan, Grantaire grabs his phone from the nightstand and answers it, squirming a little under Enjolras’s continued ministrations.

“What?” he says gruffly as Enjolras nuzzles his face into Grantaire’s neck, breathing him in. “Woah, woah, woah. Feu, calm down - what’s going on?”

At Grantaire’s worried tone, Enjolras sits up peering down at the dark haired man as he listens to his friend on the other line, a deep crease in his brow. 

“Fuck. I’m on my way,” Grantaire says, jumping out of the bed, leaving Enjolras behind, anxiety shooting through him. He watches as Grantaire pulls on a pair of pants, his cellphone tucked between his ear and shoulder. “Which hospital?”

“What is it?” Enjolras asks as soon as Grantaire hangs up and slide his phone into the pocket of his jeans. 

“It’s - it’s Mont, I gotta go,” Grantaire replies, pulling a t-shirt over his head. 

“Do you want me to come?” Enjolras asks, getting out of bed and starting to get dressed himself. 

Across the room, Grantaire is frozen. “You’d do that?”

“Of course I would?” Enjolras says, but it comes out more of a question.

“You don’t even know Montparnasse,” Grantaire says, almost scowling. 

“No, but I know he’s important to you,” Enjolras says, confused. _Doesn't he know I'd do anything for him?_ “And you seem scared, and the least I can do is come with you and hold your hand.” 

Grantaire just smiles softly, and says, so quiet, “Yeah, okay.”

Enjolras smiles back and just says, "Okay."


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for a drug overdose, hospitals

Forty-five minutes later Grantaire is sitting between Enjolras and Feuilly in the waiting room of the Bellevue Hospital ER. The chairs are uncomfortable, and Feuilly keeps fidgeting around in his. Right now, he’s sitting with his head hanging between his knees, his forearms resting on his thighs. His hat is off, and he’s using it to cover his face.

Feuilly had already been at the hospital when Grantaire and Enjolras arrived, and he’d scowled upon seeing the latter man.

“What’s he doing here, R?” he demanded, his mouth set in a hard line.

“He’s fine, Feu,” Grantaire had replied. 

At that, Feuilly turned to Enjolras and said, “You keep your mouth shut about this, okay?”

“Feu-”

“No it’s okay, R,” Enjolras cut in, laying a gentle hand on Grantaire’s chest. “I wouldn’t do that, Feuilly. I only mean to offer support, but I can go if you’d like.”

Feuilly had looked at Enjolras for a few moments before sighing and saying, “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Enjolras had said, and that was that.

Now, Enjolras is holding Grantaire’s hand.

The thing is, Grantaire hates hospitals. He’s been in this exact scenario more times than any one person should, and not one of them had a happy ending. So, yeah, he hates hospitals. Especially the waiting rooms. Everything is so bright and impersonal and quiet. The only thing to distract him is an old TV hung in the corner of the room. It’s on mute, large white captions scrolling across the bottom, and Grantaire watches as a couple hunts for their dream home with a flamboyant realtor. They’re arguing over whether or not a screened-in porch is a dealbreaker. Grantaire hates them. 

He startles a bit when Feuilly groans loudly, sitting up in his chair and leaning his head against the wall. “God, why do they take so fucking long to talk to you? Like can’t we get one fucking update?”

Grantaire can’t help it. He says, “Feu, if it looks even for a second like - ”

“I know,” he interrupts, almost as if he’d been expecting Grantaire to say this.

“I’m telling Eponine,” Grantaire says anyway.

“I know.”

“And Jehan.”

“I know.”

The two fall into silence once again. Enjolras squeezes Grantaire’s hand. 

About five minutes later, Feuilly groans again and abruptly stands, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jean cutoffs. He starts walking mindlessly back and forth in front of Grantaire and Enjolras. “Would you like me to try and get an update for you?” Enjolras asks then, surprising Grantaire. He turns to look at him, but his eyes are focused on Feuilly, his brow knitted in concern. 

Feuilly freezes in his pacing and asks, “You think it would help?”

Enjolras simply shrugs and says, “I can be pretty convincing when I want to be.” Grantaire watches him as he says this, his heart aching a little in his chest, and thinks, _I am so fucked._

“Rel’s here,” Grantaire says then, his voice sounding relieved even to his own ears. Bahorel is much better in a crisis than Grantaire is, and it’s clear Feuilly is relieved as well, the tightness in his shoulders releasing a bit as he spots his friend. 

“Thank fuck, I need a cigarette anyway,” Feuilly says, heading to meet Bahorel halfway. Grantaire turns to look at Enjolras, his eyebrows raised in question. 

“You go,” Enjolras says, nodding his head in the direction Feuilly left. “I’m going to see what I can find out.” He pauses and smiles shyly before adding, “If that’s okay.”

“Do your thing, babe,” Grantaire answers with a grin, leaning over to kiss Enjolras soundly in the mouth. The other man squeaks a little in response, and Grantaire laughs before standing and following Feuilly.

He meets up with them just outside the doors of the hospital, standing across the ambulance bay.

Bahorel hugs Grantaire upon seeing him, and Grantaire will never admit just how badly he needed it in that moment. 

“Do we know anything yet?” Bahorel asks as he pulls away from Grantaire. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry I was in the middle of a cut and color and didn’t see the texts. I got here as soon as I could.”

Feuilly hands Grantaire a cigarette, and he accepts it gratefully. “Thanks for coming, man,” Feuilly says to his shoes and Grantaire watches as Bahorel bumps his shoulder into his. Those two never needed to use a lot of words when it came to one another.

At that moment, Grantaire receives a series of texts, one right after another, his phone chiming in his pocket. He pulls out his phone to read,

**E.T.:** _R!!!!!!!!!! HOLY FUCKING SHIT_

**E.T.:** _IT WORKED_

**E.T.:** _WE FUCKED_

Grantaire slides the phone back into his pocket without replying. He’s definitely going to insist Eponine share all the dirty details later - right now just doesn’t seem like the time. 

“That is quite a man you have there,” Bahorel says, and Grantaire follows his line of sight. Through the glass doors of the hospital, Grantaire can see Enjolras standing at the check-in desk, and it’s clear the person behind the counter is getting a classic Enjolras Earful.

Grantaire chuckles, feeling himself smile, and says, “Atta boy.” 

When the three of them walk back through the sliding doors, Enjolras is standing there waiting for them. “The doctor is on his way to give you an update, Feuilly,” he says immediately. Feuilly lets out a breathy, relieved laugh and pulls Enjolras into a tight hug, clearly taking him by surprise.

The four of them settle back into the uncomfortable seats in the waiting room, and Grantaire leans over to place a kiss on Enjolras’s shoulder. 

A _thank you_. 

  
  


About half an hour later, Feuilly is allowed back into Montparnasse’s room while Grantaire, Enjolras, and Bahorel sit in the waiting room together until Bahorel has to leave, needing to get back to the salon for his next appointment. He’d hugged both he and Enjolras before he left. 

After about an hour of waiting, Feuilly returns to the waiting room. His face is red and splotchy from where he’s clearly been crying. Grantaire and Enjolras both stand upon seeing him, their hands finding each other immediately. 

“So, we’re just waiting for him to wake up now,” Feuilly says. He inhales a deep breath, releasing it slowly before asking, “Can you stay with him? I, uh, really need a meeting.”

“Course,” Grantaire says immediately. “I’ll call you if he wakes up before you’re back.”

Feuilly nods at that, wiping a rough hand over his face. He nods again and turns to leave, but Grantaire stops him, saying, “I’m really fucking proud of you, Feu.”

Feuilly’s face crumbles at that and he reaches out to plant a watery (if not slightly aggressive) kiss to his forehead. “Thanks, man,” he says, sniffling a little. Feuilly looks at Enjolras next and presses his hand to the side of his face for just a second before he disappears through the doors of the emergency room. 

Grantaire turns to Enjolras then, opening his mouth to tell him he doesn’t have to stay, but Enjolras beats him to it. “I’ll be here,” he says, sitting back down into the chair he’d been occupying. Grantaire smiles at that, feeling affection well up inside him. He takes Enjolras’s hand into his own, plants a kiss into the center of his palm, and then heads to find Montparnasse’s room. 

Some time later, Grantaire is sitting in a chair next to Montparnasse’s bed, feeling himself doze off, when he hears his name.

“R?” 

Grantaire looks up to see Montparnasse looking back at him, his face scrunched in confusion. He breathes an enormous sigh of relief and stands, walking over to the side of the bed. 

“Hey man,” Grantaire says, careful to keep his voice soft. He hits the button to call for the nurse. “How you feelin’?”

Montparnasse squeezes his eyes shut and licks his lips, his mouth obviously dry. “Like shit,” he says. His voice is gravel in his throat. 

“Yeah, you look like shit,” Grantaire replies, and Montparnasse’s mouth quirks slightly. After a moment, Grantaire adds, “You ODed, man.”

Montparnasse says nothing. 

The nurse walks in then, smiling brightly and asking, “Oh, are we awake?” 

“Yeah, just now,” Grantaire says, sitting back down to give the nurse room to work. She hums approvingly, and walks over to Montparnasse.

“Alright, I’m just gonna get your vitals now, sweetie,” she says then, proceeding to check Montparnasse’s pulse, temperature, blood pressure, and breathing. When she's finished, she smiles at Montparnasse and says, “The doctor will be in shortly.”

Silence follows her exit. Grantaire pulls out his phone and texts Feuilly to let him now Montparnasse is awake. 

“Where’s, uh,” Montparnasse pauses to swallow.

“Meeting,” Grantaire answers before Montparnasse has to ask. “He’ll be back.” 

Montparnasse hums but otherwise says nothing. Grantaire looks at him for a long moment before sliding his chair closer to the bed. “You gotta get your shit together, man,” he says, not unkindly.

Montparnasse’s jaw tightens, but he otherwise shows no sign of having even heard Grantaire. 

Grantaire tries again. “Why don’t you come home?” 

His words are met with more silence. “It’s been six years, Parnasse. You gotta stop punishing yourself for something that was never your fault,” Grantaire says. “You’re punishing the rest of us at this point.” 

Montparnasse turns his head away from Grantaire. “Feu is on his way back - should be here in like ten minutes,” he says. Montparnasse still doesn’t reply and for some reason, Grantaire feels like crying. “Enj is in the waiting room. I should probably get back to him,” he says eventually.

Montparnasse scoffs at that. “I’ll never get how you bagged that one.”

Grantaire chuckles. “Trust me, no one is more surprised than I am.”

Grantaire turns to leave after a moment. Montparnasse has made it perfectly clear that he isn’t in the mood to talk, at least not to Grantaire. His hand is on the doorknob when Grantaire turns back and says, “When he looks at me - it’s like, he thinks I’m a way better person than I actually am." Montparnasse looks back at him, his brow furrowed. “And that _makes_ me want to be a better person.”

Montparnasse is silent for a long moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says eventually. 

Grantaire lets himself observe his... _what even is Montparnasse to him these days?,_ he wonders. _His friend? Family?_...and he feels hollow inside. Montparnasse is shockingly pale, the tattoos that cover almost every inch of him standing out even more starkly against his skin. The circles under his eyes suggest he hasn’t slept well in a while, and Grantaire figures that’s probably the case. It makes his heart ache to think about how Montparnasse has been living for the last six years. About exactly how much punishment he’s inflicted on himself. 

“What I’m _saying_ is...Feuilly thinks you’re a way better person than you are,” Grantaire replies, and he thinks he sees Montparnasse smile at that, just a little. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (In case it isn't clear, the "meetings" Feuilly has to go to are NA/AA meetings)
> 
> ANYHOO, why do I love to hurt them so much?? 
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated and help me stay motivated to keep writing! :)
> 
> Also, I promise we'll actually get to the Occupy Wall Street part very soon 🤪


End file.
